September, 1793! The Fructidor riots! And the massacre that followed; causing the streets of Paris to run red with blood! The terrible reprisals that followed the escape of Paul Déroulède and Juliette Marny! And, calmly, serenely, towering over them all, laughing inanely, the enigmatic figure of the Scarlet Pimpernel and his devoted wife ensconced in the little home by the Bois!

And as soon as Sir Percy Blakeney had been put au fait by Ffoulkes and others of the events which the de Clunys had adumbrated, he realized the need for urgent action if a calamity was to be averted. In a moment the foppish ways, the bored, polished elegance of the man of the world dropped away from him, the spirit of daring was awake, insistent and rampant: the lazy blue eyes were steely, the speech deliberate. Sir Percy had sunk his individuality in that of the Scarlet Pimpernel. And within a few hours, the cadaverous Rateau, the blood-thirsty Lenoir, the humble violin-maker were back at their old haunts, and Lenoir, menacing and brutal, was demanding the death of every aristo and that of Paul Déroulède in particular!

Paul Déroulède was one of the few men of culture and refinement who were popular with the mob. It would be difficult to say why this was, or how it came about that this one man remained immune from denunciations and managed to escape the wholesale massacres which had followed the murder of Marat. The reign of Terror was now at its height. "Let us govern by terror," Danton had said, "so only can we purge the land of traitors. Let terror therefore be the order of the day!"

One woke up in the morning and knew not if one's head would be on one's shoulders in the evening, or whether it would be held up by citizen Samson, the headsman, for the sans-culottes of Paris to gape at. But Paul Déroulède was allowed to go on his way unmolested: for citizen Déroulède was not dangerous, so Marat had said; not dangerous to republicanism, to Liberty, to that downward leveling process, the tearing down of old traditions and the annihilation of past pretensions. Nor had he been dangerous to republicanism at one time, any more than Marguerite St. Just had been dangerous, when democracy was still an ideal, and had not yet resorted to butchery. But now: well! Paul Déroulède was up to the neck in a conspiracy to restore the monarchy in France.

"My only friend in revolutionary France is in extreme danger," ran a scribbled note which Marguerite found slipped under her bedroom door in the morning. "Paul Déroulède is doomed, unless I intervene. You will understand, my beloved, why I must away at this hour without saying good-bye."

Of course Marguerite understood. The call was a clarion one to the man who had never failed a friend. She understood perfectly and would not have wished it otherwise. For she owed her present happiness in no small measure to that gentle, refined and generous man, Paul Déroulède. When she came to Paris, an unknown artist, full of ambition and enthusiasm, he had been one of the first to recognize her talent and had been one of her most devoted admirers. Though an ardent adherent of the revolutionary party, his tendencies were non-militant, and he had been considered by many to be far too mild in his views to be called a republican. Others, however, respected him because of the spirit of altruism which animated his harangues to the populace, a spirit far different from that which only incited the ignorant to hatred and revenge.

His high ideals, as well as his learning and refinement, had also caused him to be made welcome in the higher circles of society of pre-revolution days, and to be looked on as a link between the two extremes of thought. Even when the full tide of the Reign of Terror broke over the city, Déroulède was allowed to carry on his profession as an advocate at the Paris bar, and in the exercise of his profession it was more than once his duty to plead for aristos arraigned before the revolutionary tribunal ­ citizen Déroulède, it was tacitly admitted, was not dangerous.

Blakeney had first met Déroulède in Marguerite's salon in the rue Richelieu. By one of those strange coincidences in the laws of attraction, the two men, so unlike outwardly, except for their national characteristics, formed a friendship which bridged over the gulf of political antagonism, and they conceived for one another a sincere regard, strengthened by their common affection for Marguerite. 

When the revolution first put an end to autocracy, Déroulède had been in full agreement with the movement. He gave his adherence to the revolutionary programme, put up for election to the Constituent Assembly, took his seat in that house, and subsequently in the National Convention, where he gained the admiration of members on both sides by his eloquence and sane progressive views. He never lent his support to measures of tyranny, and at the very outset of the Scarlet Pimpernel's activities, he gave to the intrepid adventurer, as well as to the protégés of the League, a full measure of sympathy.

Opinions differ as to whether Déroulède ever guessed that his friend Blakeney had a hand in the many evasions that were taking place among the victims of the Revolutionary Tribunal. He certainly saw a great deal of Sir Percy, who made it a rule, whenever he was in Paris, to visit the one friend he had in the enemy's camp. In Déroulède's house the English exquisite could freely indulge his fastidious tastes in food and wine, in elegant diction and refined surroundings, for Paul's mother who presided over the bachelor establishment, was both, high-born and high-bred, a woman of great culture and refinement.

There is a story concerning the friendship between the two men, which has been fully exploited in fiction. Whether it is absolutely true to fact it is difficult to say. It is certain that some years previously Paul Déroulède, then a young, already distinguished advocate at the bar, had an affair of honour with the young Vicomte de Marny. A duel ensued and the Vicomte was killed in fair fight. 

It was said at the time that the young man's sister, Juliette, swore an oath that she would avenge her brother's death, and that, with this object in view, she presently found a pretext for an introduction into the Déroulède household, where she soon became a great favourite with old Madame Déroulède, whilst Paul fell passionately in love with her.

As so often happens in cases like this, where there are only scrappy records of a life so puzzling as that of the Scarlet Pimpernel, there are several versions of what happened subsequently. It seems pretty certain that Juliette Marny's purpose was to spy on the Déroulèdes and to avenge her brother's death by denouncing Paul as a traitor. As a man in love, his instinct was to trust the woman to whom he had given his heart. He was undoubtedly indiscreet, and this at the moment when sickened by the excesses of his former friends and by the chaos and misery which their policy had heaped upon France, he had begun to establish communication with the reactionary, or monarchist party. How Blakeney came to know that his friend became more and more deeply involved in plots for the restoration of the monarchy is difficult to say.

One or two enigmatical entries into his diary almost suggest that Déroulède actually confided in him, and even gave actual support to the League by allowing his house to be used as a refuge for escaped prisoners who were under the protection of the Scarlet Pimpernel. Owing to his peculiar position in the National Convention and is popularity with the mob, his volte-face must have been of immense service to the League; the immunity which he enjoyed, even at the hands of the extremists, enabled him to visit the prisons when he chose; and as a leading advocate at the Bar, he had access to the lists of the accused who were awaiting trial. These names, it may be supposed, he passed on to his English friend, with, in many cases, most fortunate results.

No one could possibly have accused Paul Déroulède of trafficking with traitors or with English spies. His munificent gifts to the nation, his devotion to the cause, were too well known to allow a breath of suspicion to cast a slur upon so fine a patriot. 

But it seems that it was this very immunity which finally caused his downfall. His popularity in the National Convention seemed unassailable; his way of life was both so straightforward and so simple that no one could accuse him of aristocratic tendencies. But it was this very freedom to come and go as he chose, unmolested and unquestioned, that decided him in the end to take the fatal step which very nearly brought him to the guillotine. It was due to his friendship with Sir Percy, to his natural honest good sense, and to his sympathy with the unfortunate that he first renounced his revolutionary principles. And now that every eye in Europe was turned towards the Conciergerie, where the unhappy Marie Antoinette was incarcerated, Paul's thoughts naturally turned to her also. Soon he was neck-deep with his Royalist friends in a plot to effect her rescue.

Rumours of this plot reached Percy's ears through the Clunys, a family of émigrés who owed their rescue to him. He was in England at the time, but made immediate haste to come over to France in order to ascertain what truth, if any, there was in these rumours. No sooner had he set foot in Paris than evidence of the truth jumped to his eyes. There was more than once conspiracy afoot to rescue the Queen, and his friend Déroulède was deep in every one of them. Now, no one knew better than the Scarlet Pimpernel that to get Marie Antoinette out of prison and convey her to England or Belgium in safety was an impossible task.

To quote his own words once more: "The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel never fails," he said on one occasion to his followers, "because it never attempts the impossible." His active brain, there is no doubt, had before now tackled the problem of the unfortunate Queen, but had to give up the attempt; not because of the difficulty of dragging a prisoner out of the Conciergerie ­ he had accomplished far more difficult tasks than that, not once, but a hundred times ­ but because of the personality of the Queen, her upbringing, her clinging to the great idea that the persons of crowned monarchs were sacred. 

Her Austrian pride would never consent to obey the Scarlet Pimpernel's commands, to hide in a market gardener's coat under a pile of decaying refuse, to sleep in a common lodging-house or to ride astride on a pillion with her arms clinging round the waist of a foreigner who had never had the privilege of a personal introduction to her. Not only her actions, but her every gesture would not only have betrayed her, but also her rescuers. 

And what the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel could not accomplish, Déroulède and his enthusiastic, but inept associates could not accomplish either.

Blakeney's alert brain now concentrated on a scheme to get Déroulède himself out of France. He had been the first to suspect Juliette Marny of treachery, but the problem was how to sow the seeds of this same suspicion in the mind of a lover. 

At the first hint from his friend, Déroulède became adamant. Nothing would induce him to go back on his friends, he was convinced that given a modicum of good luck the plot to save the Queen was bound to succeed. Blakeney tried to use Paul's mother as a leverage to induce him to come away, but his entreaties on that score only ended in Paul's begging him to convey his mother to England. He himself would only leave France in the suite of the Queen.

There is a brief note in one of Ffoulkes' diaries, which goes to prove that Blakeney's next idea was to kidnap Juliette Marny along with Paul and his mother, and take them willy-nilly on board the Daydream and Ffoulkes, it seems, did receive actual orders from the Scarlet Pimpernel for his share in that adventure.

But suddenly the crisis came.

Juliette Marny wrote the denunciation which brought the sleuths of the Committee of Public Safety into Déroulède's house and caused his arrest. She did this at a moment when a good deal of correspondence relating to his activities on behalf of the Queen was in his possession. It consisted probably of letters written by him, or to him, between his fellow conspirators, also plans in writing of how the rescue of the Queen was to be effected.

It is quite impossible to probe into the motives of a woman's actions. At the time that Juliette Marny wrote the anonymous denunciation against Déroulède ­ an authentic document, by the way, still preserved in the archives of the city of Paris ­ she must have hated him. She must have known that she was sending him straight to his death. But less than three hours later she compromised herself hopelessly by extracting the fateful correspondence from Déroulède's bureau and throwing the papers into the fire, at the very moment when a small detachment of the Republican guard was demanding admittance into the house in the name of the Republic.

She was caught by the men in the very act of burning the last packet of letters; questioned as to their contents she refused to reply; she was accused of treasonable correspondence and put under arrest. But with the destruction of that correspondence there was no longer any proof against Paul Déroulède. With a wealth of apologies, the accusation was withdrawn and he was allowed to go free.

The trial of Juliette Marny on a charge of treasonable correspondence with persons unknown ­ a correspondence which she had perfidiously destroyed ­ and of launching a false accusation against an esteemed patriot, was probably one of the most dramatic and turbulent that had ever taken place inside the Palais de Justice. It lead directly to what is known as the Fructidor riots. Paul Déroulède, one of the most popular advocates at the Paris Bar, was Juliette's defender. His eloquence stirred the hearts of those spectators ­ all too few ­ who had a spark of compassion left in them for the terrible plight in which a refined young girl found herself. But, of course, her condemnation was a foregone conclusion. Not one in a hundred accused passed through the doors of the "Tribunal Extraordinaire" a free man or woman, and the eloquence of a Demosthenes could not have saved Juliette Marny who had been caught red-handed in an act of treason.

The morning of the trial, the members of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel received the following communication from their chief:

"I shall require every one of you to be present at the tribunal to-day. As Lenoir, I shall launch a denunciation of immoral conduct against Paul Déroulède, so as to involve him and the Marny girl in one accusation. You all know by heart the tactics which you must follow after that, so I need not repeat them now. All you have to do is make as much noise as you can. Remember Lenoir. Rue Jolivet first. Then Père Lachaise. I will let you have final instructions during the sitting."

The false Lenoir and his gang of cut-throats succeeded in their ruse. During the course of the trial the coal-heaver began by murmuring his accusations against the advocate, then against the girl, demanding their death on the grounds of immorality rather than treason; the challenge was taken up by his friends: France must be purged of sluts and loose fish. Their demands grew louder and louder and soon caused such an uproar that neither prosecutor nor defender could make himself heard. The judges vainly tinkled their bell, demanding silence. Soon the mob, excited by the turmoil, became uncontrollable: The League had succeeded in rousing its hatred against Juliette and Déroulède. With loud cries of execration, the crowd demanded mise en accusation of citizen Déroulède and citizeness Marny.

In the meanwhile every member of the League there present had received a brief communication:

"Be outside on the quay-side exit a quarter of an hour after we have started the tumult. I will keep the mob at fever heat until then. Watch for me as Lenoir with the two either on my shoulders or in the tumbrel. Stick around me as close as you can. Only give a hand if you see me hard pressed, in which case concentrate on the prisoners and leave me to shift for myself."

"We did as we were bid," writes Ffoulkes in his journal, "and made our way to the quay-side entrance where the usual crowd of quidnuncs were already gathered to see the condemned prisoners come out. The tumbrel was waiting and it looked as if a special guard had been hastily summoned for the occasion. Soon we saw Percy gesticulating wildly and shouting his usual bloodthirsty cry. Juliette and Paul were carried out by two soldiers and pushed into the cart which started off immediately. We pressed close to it and, although it was dark, we could see Percy striding along.

"After a few minutes he contrived to speak to me. He told me that the mob had gone mad; and that all we need to do is fall on the soldiers who were guarding the two prisoners and he would give me the usual signal for this.

"Soon after that, we heard the signal, and we fell upon the soldiers to such good effect that we were left in possession of the tumbrel. We carried the two prisoners to the rue Jolivet and here Percy presently joined us and explained to us his plan for reaching the Porte St. Antoine and for passing through without being challenged. In the first place, we were to join in with the mob. The prisoners dressed in the same sort of rough clothes as we ourselves were wearing, were to come with us. Percy then, still wearing his Lenoir disguise, would continue to incite the mob to rioting, and to create as much noise and confusion as possible. The escape of the prisoners would be a pretext for a regular tumult. We were, of course, to keep as close to him as possible, remembering that the cry of the sea-mew as usual would be the rallying call.

"It was not very difficult in these days to arouse the excitement of the populace and Percy knew all the tricks that would do it. He knew how to wave his arms, his voice became raucous and stentorian at will, and he had a string of invectives at his command which would have given points to the lowest cut-throat in the city. On this occasion he surpassed himself. 'We are betrayed,' he shouted, 'the aristos have escaped!' and when the cry had been taken up by the mob and cries of execration had been hurled at aristos and traitors, at the Government and the Committees, he went on still shouting 'Aux barrières! Citoyens! Comrades! Let us catch the traitors at the gates of our city!'

"One knows what an excited crowd is like at moments like this. It will follow, like sheep, any leader who shouts loudly enough. Led by Percy in the direction of the Porte St. Antoine, the mob followed blindly, never pausing to think whether the prisoners were more likely to escape through the Porte St. Antoine rather than through any other city gate. The town guard did not make any serious attempt to interfere. The officers thought, no doubt, that less harm would be done by letting the ebullient tempers have their way, than by trying to repress a tumult which would soon degenerate into rioting and bloodshed.

"There was a bit of a bagarre at the Porte St. Antoine. The mob, not knowing exactly what it did want, worked off its excitement by falling on the guard who, very wisely, only offered perfunctory resistance, making a rush through the gates in order to loot the stacks of provisions that were piled up outside, ready for entry into the city. Then it was that we heard the cry of the sea-mew. Dewhurst, Galveston and I were taking the prisoners between us, rallied round our chief. We kept up our rôles of mudlarks and gradually worked our way to the fringe of the crowd. The shades of evening were now drawing in: under their cover we turned off in the direction of Père Lachaise and soon were able to make for the 'Pleine Lune,' the small inn behind the cemetery, where the landlord and his family, who were in Percy's pay, made us all welcome."

Thus ended the Fructidor riots and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes' notes go no further, but it may be surmised that the party of fugitives did not remain long in the vicinity of the city; whether they continued their way on foot, on horseback or in country carts, we know not, but what is a fact is that Paul Déroulède and Juliette Marny came safely to England, for they were married in the Church of St. Mary the Virgin, Soho, on January 10th, 1794.

Fiction has dealt with further adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel, but as a matter of fact there are very few authentic records of his doings during the nine months following the Fructidor riots.

There are one or two scraps of paper, however, that can be vouched for, for they are in Percy Blakeney's own handwriting. Two of these scraps are parts of letters obviously addressed to his wife, and both seem to suggest that, at any rate, on two occasions the Scarlet Pimpernel was actually a prisoner in the hands of the revolutionary Government and looking forward to summary death at the hands of his enemies.

One of these letters was apparently written in Boulogne: it is almost illegible and the date is missing: although it must have been written at a time of great stress, it breathes that marvelous optimism and confidence which is so characteristic of the gallant adventurer. 

"I have very little time before me," it says, "for my friend C. seems in a demmed hurry to see me dangle at the end of a rope. But do not take this as a last farewell, my beloved, for of a certainty I shall hold you in my arms before very long."

This letter may or may not have any connection with the account given in an English society journal of the time of a quarrel over the card-table, which occurred in the presence of H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, between the accredited agent of the French Government and Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart. ­ a quarrel which ended in a challenge to a duel to be fought between the two gentlemen at Boulogne. To the searcher after truth it seems more likely that the quarrel and challenge were a ruse on the part of Armand Chauvelin to make sure of Blakeney's presence at a given time on an agreed spot in France. This theory is also confirmed by another curious document which is preserved in the archives of Boulogne. This is a roughly printed proclamation promising pardon and freedom on a certain day and at a given hour to all prisoners incarcerated in Fort Gayole and the old Château.

"Demain Decadi," it says, "à sept heures du soir, au son du canon venant de vieux Beffroi, les portes de Fort Gayole et du Château seront ouvertes, et tout prisonnier aura droit à cette présente amnistie, en vue de la déroute du plus vicieux ennemi de la partie."

("Tomorrow, the tenth day of the decade," it says, "at seven o'clock in the evening, at the sound of canons coming from old Beffroi, the doors of Fort Gayole and of the Château will be opened, and all the prisoners will be pardoned at that time, in view of the overthrow of the most vicious enemy of the party.")

The words "plus vicieux ennemi" clearly indicate the Scarlet Pimpernel, who was often thus referred to in Documents Historiques of the two previous years. [1]

[1. Documents Historiques. Tome XXVII. L'an de la République, Collection Dubois et Herrot.]

There is a further short allusion to Boulogne in another letter written by Sir Percy to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes ­ a letter which is doubly interesting, for it refers to the marriage of one of the most prominent members of the League, Lord Anthony Dewhurst, to Yvonne, daughter of the duc de Kernogan, a Breton nobleman who had emigrated to England at the outbreak of the revolution. The letter is dated December 1st, 1793, from 15 The Crescent, Bath.

"Dear Ffoulkes," it says. "As you will perceive from the above address, we have moved from Richmond. I wanted to stay at the 'Nest,' but I was ordered away from the sea by my beloved wife, who was afraid that I might slip away in the night to join you.

"During the mêlée on the ramparts at Boulogne, I received a slight injury to the right thigh. In the ordinary course of events, I would not have allowed it to worry me, but if I am to continue as an active leader of the League, I must give it careful doctoring. The learned leeches say that the waters here are excellent and will ensure a speedy cure.

"Of course, our choice was influenced by H.R.H., who had recently made Bath fashionable, having adopted the place, so to speak, as his favorite spa. Naturally, he induced us, as soon as he knew that we should be in England for a while, to accompany him there.

"Well, my dear Ffoulkes, once again the leadership of our League depends temporarily on you, and I have no qualms about your devotion to your wits. 

"I think that Tony will be happy with his Yvonne.

"Yours ever, Percy."

Early in 1794 ­ i.e. January 6th or the 17th Nivose in the year II of the Republic ­ the Assembly of the Convention voted a new law, giving fuller powers to the two Committees of Public Safety and of General Security. This law enabled domiciliary searches to be made at the discretion of the Committees and authorized them to proceed summarily against all enemies of the republic. It also assured the sum of thirty-five sous to any of the Committee's spies who had been instrumental in "beating up game for the guillotine."

Blakeney and at least ten members of his League were in Paris at the time, though it is not known what their activities consisted in for the moment. Dangers attending these activities must have increased an hundredfold, for by this time the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, as well as that of some of his followers, must have been known to a number of the Committee's spies. All the same, the selfless devotion of the little band of adventurers had become more of a necessity than ever, and there seems to be no doubt that the Scarlet Pimpernel and most of the members of the League remained in France during the whole of '93 until the great crisis of Thermidor in '94. 

There have been many contradictory tales told of the rescue of the little Dauphin ­ the uncrowned king of France ­ from the Temple prison, and many have claimed to have effected that rescue. But only one account bears the hall-mark of authenticity. It is not to be supposed that the Scarlet Pimpernel did not at some time or other of his adventurous career, turn his eyes to that most pitiful and pathetic sight in all Europe ­ the child martyr in the Temple. And as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel never attempted the impossible, it remains an undisputed fact that the child's rescue was effected by Percy Blakeney and by no one else.

Already, on January 16th, he adumbrated his plans before the most trusted members of his League. A meeting was held in a house on the Quai de l'Ecole, and it is to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes' journal that history owes the knowledge of what took place on that occasion.

"'On one point, I am quite clear,' Percy declared to us," Sir Andrew says in his journal, "'and that is that His Majesty, Louis XVII, will come out of that ugly house in my company next Sunday, the nineteenth of January, in this year of disgrace, seventeen hundred and ninety-four. That day, the gaoler, Simon, and his wife, are moving out of the Temple, bag and baggage, and a new turnkey will take their place. For some time now, I have anticipated this event, for I have often talked with Simon and drunk sour wine with him at the Cabaret. I have made him understand that I own a cart and a donkey and that I earn my living by doing odd jobs of furniture removal for a few sous per hour. He has engaged me to move his furniture for him this next Sunday. Chance has indeed played into my hands.' We were," Sir Andrews goes on to say, "dumbfounded at this news."

Further, there is a letter written by Blakeney to Sir Andrew which finally disposes of any doubt the serious student may have on the subject of that historic episode.

"Tony and Hastings," Sir Percy wrote to his friend, "will await me outside the Barrière du Trône at six-thirty to-morrow afternoon. I shall want you with me as my mate. The stage is set. I am Dupont, the removal man, and this I know, that those murdering blackguards will not lay hands on me while the most precious life in France is in my keeping."

Nothing could be clearer than that and it is absolutely inconceivable that the Scarlet Pimpernel, having formulated his plans, should have failed in its accomplishment. That it was not the Dauphin, the uncrowned king of France, who died of neglect and starvation in the Temple prison, the following has been proved over and over again beyond a doubt by French and English historians. The child who died in the Temple was two years older than the Dauphin, his hair was darker, his eyes of a different colour. He was substituted for the Dauphin as soon as the latter's disappearance from prison became known to the heads of the revolutionary Government, who feared public opinion and denunciations for connivance from their political adversaries.

The only fact susceptible of being controverted, is, what became of the boy afterwards? But this question has been dealt with so often [2] and at such great lengths by writers of divergent views on the subject, and is, in any case, so complicated that it cannot find a place in the biography of his rescuer. It is more than probable that Sir Percy Blakeney, after he had brought the most precious life in France to safety, placed it in the care of de Batz who was the accredited agent of the Emperor of Austria, the boy's nearest relative.

[2. La question Louis XVII de M. Otto Friedrichs, chez H, Daragon, rue Blanche, Paris.]

In spite of the fact that only young men in the entourage of Sir Percy Blakeney, who were of unquestioned integrity, were enrolled as members of the League, it occurred on two occasions that the Scarlet Pimpernel was betrayed by one of them.

The best known case, and one which nearly cost the gay adventurer his life, was engineered by Marguerite's own brother, Saint Just. It occurred directly after the escape of the Dauphin from the Temple. What led Armand to this abominable deed is in the domain of fiction, but the letter written by Sir Percy Blakeney in the Conciergerie prison to Armand St. Just, who partly burned it, is authentic. It was written at the dictation of Chauvelin, and was obviously a ruse, and part of a plan which, despite his terrible predicament, he had already begun to formulate.

"Mon état présent, mon cher ami, est devenu tel qu'il m'est impossible de le supporter. Le citoyen Héron ain . . . M. Chauvelin ont transformé . . . en un véritable enfer. De . . . nous quittons ces lieux et . . . guiderai le citoyen Hé . . . connu de nous où se . . ."

("My present state, my dear friend, has become unendurable. Citizen Héron thu . . . M. Chauvelin has transformed . . . into a true Hell. To . . . we leave this place and . . . will guide citizen Hé . . . known by us where he . . .")

Which scraps make it obvious that Héron and Chauvelin were offering Blakeney his release on condition that he led them to the place of refuge where he had hidden the Dauphin. In the letter he asks of St. Just to accompany him on that expedition. Marguerite was already in France. She had learned the awful news of her husband's incarceration from Ffoulkes.

"Our leader," Ffoulkes wrote to several members of the League, "is in the Conciergerie. God knows what is in store for him and for us all. No one has been allowed to see him, only his wife. The devils are trying to worm out of him the secret of the Dauphin's hiding-place. To break his resistance they are depriving him of sleep. But you know what he is. He will endure Hell rather than give in."

Later on, Ffoulkes appears to have been in communication with St. Just. The latter presumably showed him the letter he had received from Blakeney and which he had tried to burn. Only a few fragments of it remained, but Ffoulkes, the most loyal of friends, does not seem to have doubted for a moment that the letter was nothing but a ruse to throw dust in the eyes of those who thought that they had at last brought the Scarlet Pimpernel to dishonour and death. He sent another brief communication to the League, a communication which breathes that optimism which Blakeney had the power of infusing into his followers.

"It is a hellish situation," Sir Andrew wrote to Anthony Dewhurst: "but I, for one, do not despair. I may not be able to write again, so keep the League together in case instructions reach us from the chief. But this could only happen by a miracle."

Many chroniclers ­ especially those whose sympathies tended towards the revolution ­ have averred that the miracle never took place, and that "the English spy" was duly hanged on the Place de Grève like a common criminal, unworthy of the guillotine. There certainly is not a scrap of evidence to show how the Scarlet Pimpernel got out of a seemingly hopeless situation, but that he did so is amply proved by the many allusions to him and to his lady and to his friends in the English society paper of the next few years. There is constant reference to Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney being present at one or another brilliant social function, to Sir Andrew and Lady Ffoulkes, to Lord and Lady Anthony Dewhurst, and to the wedding of "M. Armand St. Just, brother of the beautiful Lady Blakeney, to Mademoiselle Jeanne Lange, the one-time brilliant player of ingénue parts in the House of Molière."

Whether Marguerite ever knew or guessed that it was her brother's hand that nearly brought her husband to his death is, of course, impossible to determine. Sir Percy would naturally do his best to keep that awful revelation from her. It is undoubtedly characteristic of the Scarlet Pimpernel that he should have increased the difficulty of his own escape by taking his betrayer with him.

After that episode, Paris became practically an impossible place in which to continue the activities of the League. Prudence did, at any rate, this once, gain the day, and suggested another sphere of action for the joyous band of adventurers. At any rate, during February and March, '94, Provence hears of the Scarlet Pimpernel for the first time. Deep in the black books of the revolutionary Government after his many failures, Chauvelin was sent south: with what aim or for what purpose is not known. Anyway, he went and took up his headquarters at Orange; and Blakeney straightway turned his back on Paris and took up his residence in the same town.

The change of district called for new methods. The coast of England was now too remote; a journey right across Paris too perilous. From Orange, the Swiss or Italian frontier afforded safer avenues for escape. A certain amount of time must have been spent in reorganizing the means of transport, but plans never took long in maturing in the Scarlet Pimpernel's lively brain and presently we find in Ffoulkes' journal several references to the League's activities in Provence.

"February 10th. Percy has worked out a plan. We are to convey our protégés by coach to Grenoble and thence over the pass to Lausanne in Switzerland. We are enjoying ourselves hugely since our old friend Chauvelin is in the neighbourhood.

"February 15th. Percy and Hastings contrived to rescue ten men and women from Avignon to-day. They are safely on their way to the frontier under the care of Barstow and Mackenzie. We have no difficulty with the inhabitants as most of them are in favour of their old seigneurs. They are a great help to us."

How long the Scarlet Pimpernel remained in the south it is impossible to say. Three months certainly, because there are records of over two hundred Frenchmen and women and children who passed through into Switzerland or Italy during this time; all of whom during the course of their life abroad testified that they owed their lives to "a mysterious band of English gentlemen, who, under the leadership of a supernatural being, known as the Scarlet Pimpernel, risked their lives and fortunes in rescuing us from the murderous clutches of our enemies."

But in the spring of '94 he was back again in Paris and remained there until after the fall of Robespierre. Marguerite was with him then, most of the time, and there are scraps in Ffoulkes' journal which seem to suggest that she fell into a trap laid for her by Chauvelin, and was actually a prisoner in his hands until the great day in July, which saw the fall of Robespierre and the end of the reign of Terror.

It was during this period that a little incident occurred which is worth while recording. Through some means or other Chauvelin must have stumbled upon the truth as to Blakeney's impersonation of the asthmatic Rateau, and with some ulterior object in view, which is not quite clear, he either bribed or ordered the real Rateau to be branded on the forearm with the letter M. As soon as he became aware of this Blakeney, with characteristic thoroughness of method, promptly repaired to the veterinary surgeon who had done the branding, and had the same process repeated on his arm.

"Chauvelin ran into me the other day," he says in a letter to Ffoulkes, "I am doing scavenger work in the neighbourhood of the Rue de la Planchette on alternate days with my friend the real Rateau. The first thing C. did was to push up my sleeve and examine my arm. By Gad! but I am having a lovely game with him over this."

It can be easily presumed from that letter that it was in the same house in the Rue de la Planchette that Marguerite was held in durance. This is all the more likely as one of the houses in that street was inhabited by a woman named Théot, who was a supposed necromancer and fortune-teller, and an intimate of Robespierre, who often came to consult her. In the exercise of her nefarious trade, she had rendered valuable assistance to the Committee by listening to and reporting the often indiscreet conversations of her clients. It was owing to her denunciations that the two ladies Ste. Amaranthe were brought to the guillotine, and that Thérésia Cabarrus, the mistress of Tallien, was under arrest and awaiting trial, a few days before the dramatic fall of Robespierre.

Whether it was owning to this same great political upheaval, or through the direct agency of the Scarlet Pimpernel that Marguerite regained her freedom, it is impossible to determine: that she did escape the fate that Chauvelin had destined for her, is however, an undisputable fact.

During the whole of the day that followed the overthrow of the Terrorist Government, she and her husband remained perdu in their lodgings in the Rue de L'Anier, for it was not safe to venture out while the tumult in the streets was at its height. The reaction was bound to come soon and then they could slip quietly away.

Paris was crazy with joy; the tyrant had fallen, broken, maimed, bullied, insulted. And at four in the afternoon the end came, in the midst of the acclamations of a populace drunk with joy ­ acclamations which reached the ears of the gallant Scarlet Pimpernel and his wife.

When the shades of evening had gathered in over the jubilant city, a market cart, driven by a worthy farmer and his wife, rattled out of the Porte St. Antoine . . .